Page 2 of A Spell of Heart & Havoc

She must have had me tailed to the job. But did she know… everything? Was that why she sent me to that cottage, with the woman and child?

“Or,” she continued, fierce eyes drilling into mine, “you will be removed. Do I make myself clear?”

Unable to speak at first, I simply nodded. Panic crept up, clogging my windpipe. I couldn’t lose my place in the guild—this was the best chance I’d found in years of getting the coin I needed for my brother’s cure. I’d do anything to stay in Zephyra’s good graces. After clearing my throat, I looked away and quietly spoke.

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

1

MAERRYL

If I knew one thing by now, it was the street value of a stolen silver spoon. I could get seven silver coins for it on a good day. Five on a bad day, when I felt particularly churlish.

Forks were unpredictable; their delicate tines were often bent or twisted. Knives were the trickiest by far. The price they fetched on the black market varied widely depending on the sharpness of the blade, the amount of tarnish on the handle, and whether they were solid metal or hollow.

But spoons—they were reliable. The most lightly used and the easiest for me to fence. And if I never saw another goddess-damned fancy silver spoon again, I would be a happy woman.

That, I reminded myself, seemed unlikely. This was my life now. Sorting and cleaning ridiculously ornamental items lifted from rich idiots’ homes and reselling them for as much as I could get. Working at the whim of the guild’s leadership. In return, I had a fairly clean bed, regular—if sometimes flavorless—meals, and a steady income that I hoarded away in hiding spots along my clothes. Not exactly what I’d imagined when I joined the Takers Guild half a year ago, but I couldn’t deny that my situation was better than it had been before. The past couple of years before I’d joined here had been… difficult, to say the least.

Sighing, I carefully inspected another stupid spoon for any dents or dings. Finding none, I gave it a thorough polish and placed it on the mound of silverware that had steadily grown over the past hours of tedious work.

The door creaked open, and a broad, bald green head poked into my tiny closet of a workspace. Stiv, one of the orcs who protected the guild’s leadership on trips through the city of Talon, gave me a small up-nod in greeting. I grunted back, then returned my attention to the miniature fork in my hand.

What did rich people even use this for? Eating their caviar piece by extravagant piece? It was as long as my forefinger, for fuck’s sake.

“Maerryl, she wants to see you in her office,” Stiv said.

My attention jerked up, pulse leaping. “Really? Did she say what it’s about?”

Stiv shook his large head. “Nope. But she’s in a good mood at least.”

“Thanks. Be right there.”

He rapped on the door in farewell, leaving it open as he clomped away.

I tidied my station and threw down the polishing rag. Took a deep breath in and let it spill out of my lungs.

Rolling my shoulders back, I stalked out into the hallway and made my way through the twisting bowels of the guild toward its heart. Her office was deep in the center of the guild’s sprawling building. One of the most secure areas that we had, it required passing through three guard checkpoints before reaching the magically protected hallway that led to her office. Our dear guildmaster was nothing if not thorough.

Though she called it an office, it was really more of a lair than anything. The hallway, with its deep bloodred wallpaper dimly lit with sconces, gave a creepy air to anyone unfortunate enough to be called down into her presence. There was no one guarding the door—just a ring of eight eyeballs circling, scanning for intruders, spelled to only allow in those whom she wished to see. Their spinning and squelching made my skin crawl.

Catching sight of me, the eyeballs whirred. A pause, and the thick iron door swung open with a groan. I slipped inside. It slammed shut behind me.

Okay. Not ominous at all.

The room was shockingly bright as always, washed in a fierce, white illumination only obtainable by the strongest magelights. Several orbs were scattered about, placed on tables and hung from the ceiling, showcasing the rich, sleek wood of her desk and large leather chairs. I’d made the mistake of looking directly into those lights once before, and I’d had spots in my vision for hours after. They were powerful magic, and costly. A show of her superiority, and, if rumors were to be believed, an attempt to stave off her fear of the dark.

A waste. The coin it cost to pay for these magelights each week could pay for a hundred children’s meals for a month. Beeswax candles weakly supplemented their stronger cousins’ flames, but they were mainly intended to add ambience to the room. Or so I assumed. Pompous asses.

“Maerryl. I see you are prompt, as always.”

Her throaty baritone made me freeze like a rabbit caught near a fox’s den, limbs tensing. She chuckled and gestured me toward a chair, coming from a shadowy side door into the harsh light.

“I live to serve, Zephyra,” I said wryly, forcing myself to relax and make a quick bow, rough linen shirt billowing from my chest. Plopping into the chair she’d indicated, I had to look up at my boss as her six-foot-tall frame loomed across from me. I cast an appreciative glance over her thick curves swathed in tight black leather, cinched all over with gleaming metal buckles and ties. Bet they were real gold too.

She wasn’t just a badass—she was a rich badass with money to burn. And she made sure everyone knew it.

Catching me looking, Zephyra met my gaze. Her solid golden eyes, glowing almost orange, made my heart stammer. I let their pull drag me in, trying to hold her stare for a long moment. Two. Three.